


Laus Deo

by wedgetail



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angels, Angels vs. Demons, Australian Slang, Demons, Family Drama, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Magic, Mental Health Issues, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Nephilim, Paranormal, Protective Siblings, Supernatural Elements, Urban Fantasy, angels are dicks demons are worse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:15:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28590135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wedgetail/pseuds/wedgetail
Summary: Abigail and Elias are already in the middle of the worst month of their lives. Then, just as they return from their parents’ funeral, a grouchy angel bursts into their house, demanding their help. A powerful ward has kept the Earth safe from demons for two-thousand years. Now, it weakens. If the ward falls, the Earth will once again become a battleground in the continuing war between Heaven and Hell.The siblings are soon caught between trying to retain a semblance of a normal life and the quest to ensure humanity's survival. And Abigail begins to suspect there is more to her parents' deaths than the police reports concluded.





	1. Abigail

**Part I**

**Abigail**

Taking advantage of the light, early afternoon traffic, the bus driver hammered the accelerator. The Harbour Bridge's granite pylons slipped by and the grey trusses of the bridge's arch became little more than a blur. It was better this way, Abigail decided. At this speed, the tourists couldn't see the peeling paint and rusting steel.

Not that it mattered. The bridge and that prima donna of an opera house just to the east of it might be instantly recognisable to people around the world, but they would always play second fiddle to the harbour itself. On days such as this one — crisp and cloudless, the water shimmered in invitation. Yachts and ferries jostled for space out on the water. Gleaming, multi-million dollar houses watched over them all from the harbour's uncountable sheltered coves and green foreshores.

It was nothing Abigail's family could afford, hence the dull journey before her. Sydney's northern suburbs had their own charm, of course. And views. And millionaires. But they were so bloody far north.

Squinting in the glare of the light streaming through the bus windows, Abigail pressed the power button on her phone only to remember that her phone battery had conked out halfway through her morning Macroeconomics lecture. She had nothing to distract her from the readings she had vowed she would go through during the dead time on the bus. Abigail sighed. _Options, Futures and Other Derivatives_ — the title alone was mind-numbing. She dug the textbook out of her bag and thumbed through the monstrosity until she found the assigned chapter.

Three paragraphs in, Abigail rubbed her eyes. Too many acronyms and too many long words. By the time the bus reached the Spit Bridge she had made it through another two paragraphs, but her eyes refused to stay open any longer.

She woke up half a dozen suburbs later at the last turn before her bus stop. Abigail had made an art out of these naps since she started university.

As she got off the bus, she glanced towards the beach, which was just visible from the stop. It was a good swell; the waves frothed with foam. Now that it was autumn, the beach was quieter and there were no bluebottles around. She was tempted to sneak in an hour in the surf before dinner. It was definitely a day for surfing, not studying (although, arguably, it was never otherwise).

For now, however, Abigail headed in the opposite direction. Home was a ten-minute walk from the bus stop. McMansions, each with two SUVs, three children and a yelping dog in the yard, rose on either side of the street. Abigail's own home was older and smaller, a relic from a different generation. The car in the driveway was a third-hand Honda and the family dog, Rufus, had died two years ago. No one had the heart to suggest a replacement puppy.

Abigail cut through a small park to reach her street and did a double-take. A police car stood double-parked on the other side of the road and a little further down, no more than twenty metres from Abigail's front door, were three more. About a dozen people from the block stood huddled on the porch of number 146. John, the retired electrician from number 151, blanched when he spotted Abigail.

_Shit._ Abigail's heart thumped, as a dozen ugly memories and years of unspoken fears tumbled through her thoughts all at once. She broke into a sprint and stopped only to shove the front gate aside, then took the front steps two at a time. A young policewoman stood in the doorway. She put herself between Abigail and the entrance.

"Ma'am?" the policewoman said.

"Abigail?" Elias, her older brother, pushed himself past the policewoman and drew Abigail into a hug. "Where've you been? I've been trying to get a hold of you for hours."

"I forgot to recharge my phone. Why are the police here? What happened?"

Elias took Abigail's hand as if she were four years old again and guided her around the side of the house to the backyard. She would have raised a fuss about his behaviour, if not for the dark expression on Elias' face. They sat down at the rickety picnic table the previous owners had left behind. Elias said nothing.

"Why don't you have the cops explain everything?" she said. "It might be easier."

"No, no, give me a moment," Elias sighed. "There is — Fuck... um, mum and dad are dead."

"What?"

"I-I stopped by around midday. Nobody answered the door, so I... let myself in. They were in their bedroom..."

A wave of nausea nearly consumed Abigail. Mum and dad. Both. After Max, Elias and Abigail's older brother, killed himself, she had spent plenty of nights imagining how it would feel were she to lose another member of her family. Her parents had always had their problems, so she figured it was a possibility. But somehow her sordid thoughts never featured both of them dead in one day.

"So," she managed to mumble. "Ok, right. Bloody hell. Why were you... What happened?"

Elias stared at Abigail for what seemed like an hour before he replied. "The police are here to investigate that."

His gaze flicked to something behind Abigail. She spun around. Two policemen were at the kitchen window, watching the siblings talk.

"They'll have questions for you, I expect. I already told them what I could."

"Can I see —"

"Mum and dad? What good would that do?"

Abigail swallowed the bile in her throat. He was right of course; Abigail had no idea what prompted her to even ask that.

Elias ran his fingers through the pale, somewhat oily strands of his hair, then rose from his seat. He motioned for the policemen in the kitchen to come over.Hinges creaked as the back door fly-screen swung open.The policemen introduced themselves. A detective and a lieutenant, or something of the kind; neither their faces nor their names registered with Abigail. Elias had been correct, they wanted to talk to her.

"How did they..." Abigail said. "You know, what is..."

Elias rested his hand on her shoulder. She supposed it was intended as a supportive gesture, except he then clenched his hand so hard his nails dug through Abigail's shirt and into her skin.

"Your father was found with multiple stab wounds on his body. Our preliminary assessment is that he died as a result of blood loss due to these wounds," one of the policemen replied, his words tumbling over each other. He was young, Abigail guessed he was no older than Elias. "Your mother was found with deep lacerations on her wrists. We are piecing together what has occurred. Your testimony —"

The rush of blood to Abigail's head drowned out the rest of the man's words. She reached for Elias' hand and pulled it off her shoulder, then sunk her head into her hands.

_You come from bad blood, child, never forget that. The whole family ought to have been put out of their misery. Drunks, addicts, maniacs_. Abigail's grandmother had whispered many unpleasant truths into her ear, as she slid her fingers through Abigail's tangled hair. _We are the dregs of the world. Your brother was wise before his time._ They had buried Grandma Maurice three months after Max. She had been coming back from the bottle shop when she lost control of her car. Emergency workers had found a half-empty bottle of whisky in the glove box.

"Sounds like mum's pills didn't do their job," Abigail said. "You'd be better off talking to her psychiatrist."

"As I promised, officer, I'll get the contact details for you." Elias sighed. "Look, we are pretty messed up at the moment. I'd like to take my sister to my apartment. Can the statement wait until tomorrow?"

"Just a couple of questions, if it's at all possible, Miss Fitzpatrick?"

Abigail looked up at Elias and shrugged. It was better to do this now, delaying the inevitable would only make it worse. She didn't want to spend the next twenty-four hours obsessing about what questions the police would ask and what she would have to tell them. It was all too much already.

Thankfully, Elias seemed to understand what she wanted.

"I'll go grab some of your clothes and such, Abby. You can stay at my place tonight," he said. "Don't talk to them if you're not comfortable with any of their questions."

Elias shook off the policemen's repeated offers to take Elias and Abigail to Elias' apartment. Abigail would have preferred someone else to drive. She was a whirl of emotion, her knees weak and hands shaking no matter how much she willed herself to pull it together. For all his bravado, Abigail knew her brother was as upset as she was. But this wasn't the time for them to get into an argument and she had questions of her own to ask.

Abigail stifled her curiosity only long enough for Elias to pull his weather-beaten Corolla out of the driveway. "What were you doing here today? You don't just stop by. Why did you tell the police that?"

"What should I've told them?"

"You can't just lie to the police! They said they'll investigate. So they'll talk to people — neighbours and God only knows who else. Don't you think they'll find out exactly how often you come home? Then they'll start asking why you chose to visit on this particular day and why the hell you lied about it."

"I had a bad feeling about today," Elias jerked the car around a corner and sped up. At the sight of a red light he swore and slammed on the brakes so sharply, Abigail half-expected the airbags to activate. "Sorry, didn't mean to do that," he mumbled. "I didn't want to go over there, that's why I called you. But you weren't answering and no one was picking up the home phone either. What was I supposed to do? I hoped perhaps if I could get there quickly enough I could stop her."

Abigail bit her lip, finally catching on. _I had a bad feeling about today_. The world would've been a simpler place if people said what they meant, instead of relying on banal euphemisms.

Elias kept his own company. Whether it was Christmas or a birthday, he always arrived late to family parties and he was always the first to leave. He called it self-preservation — the shorter the interaction between him and their parents, the better the odds they could avoid a fight. So what cause would he have to visit the family home on an ordinary Wednesday like today?

A bad feeling was a gross understatement. He saw things. Mostly things occurring elsewhere at that moment, but occasionally also things that were yet to happen. Yes, the Fitzpatricks were a whole special kind of messed up. It was no wonder then Elias had been less than honest with the police. "I had a vision of my parents' death so I rushed over to their house to see whether they'd done the deed yet" would have raised more than a few eyebrows. Especially, once the police checked the medical records and found the long and rich history of mental illness in the Fitzpatrick family.

"Wait, her? It was definitely mum then?"

"Abby, I don't want to talk about —" He cut himself off when his voice started to break.

Abigail turned to face her brother. He kept his eyes on the road, but she could tell he was fighting back tears. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean... I don't want a play by play account. And I'm sorry, I should've realised what you were doing at home a hell of a lot earlier."

"You have nothing to apologise for."

Sure she did. She was the one daft enough to leave the house with her phone half dead. She should have been the one to go and pack her clothes — they were her things after all. Instead, she had sat outside like a coward while Elias stumbled about the house where their parents' bodies lay. And really, if she was honest with herself, Abigail was the one who still lived at home. Their mother's mental instability had been a part of her life for as long as she remembered, so how could she have just run off to university unaware of what was about to happen? There had to have been signs.

Elias played with the car radio for a few moments, but after flicking from one advert to another, turned the radio off. "I'm going to call Sarah tomorrow. We can get some time off from uni too."

"Sarah as in Sarah from dad's support group? Why?" said Abigail. "How do you even know her?"

"Dad introduced us a while back. She seems like the kind of person who'd know how to arrange a funeral."

Abigail winced. Funerals, taking time off from their degrees, all the other practicalities that would come up in the coming weeks. She had no idea where to begin with that and Elias had no more reason to know than she did.

This was a moment where a responsible adult would be an asset. Unfortunately, all their grandparents were dead. Their mother's sister rolled her car into a ravine five years' ago, taking herself and her two children with her. What extended family remained from their mother's side was back in Sicily; neither of the Fitzpatricks spoke much Italian nor did they have the contact details. Their father's older sister was still alive. She was probably still in Newcastle, coddling her eighth child while swatting away her third grandchild. As far as Abigail knew, her father hadn't spoken to his sister in years, but from what she remembered of the woman, Charlie Fitzpatrick was as likely to steal cash out of their wallets as she was to help them.

"Are we orphans now?" she asked. "Can you still be an orphan if you're over eighteen?"

Elias shrugged as he pulled onto Turner Road; they were now only a few blocks away from Elias' place. "I'm sure there is a term for it. The Centrelink people would know, they'd deal with situations like this all the time. I'll speak with my housemate, you'll crash with me until we sort out all of this. Later, we can find a place together if you like."

"And the house?"

For the first time since they had climbed into the car, Elias glanced at his sister. "Do you want to go back there? I certainly don't."


	2. Elias

**Two Weeks Later**

**Elias**

It was late in the evening when Elias and Abigail returned from their parents' funeral service. Elias' phone began vibrating just as he locked the car. Breath caught in his throat when he saw the caller ID. Not too long ago seeing Etienne's name come up had been enough to make Elias grin. Now it inspired only a tumult of self-hatred and regret. It was tempting to ignore the call. Elias had done exactly that the last four times Etienne had called, but now Abigail spotted the lit up screen and offered a sympathetic wince.

"It's like tearing away a band-aid," she said. "Just do it."

Elias shook his head. His sister had never had a serious relationship; she knew nothing about this. And besides, Abigail wasn't even following her own trite advice. She had been ignoring her own messages and missed calls for days. Still, Elias knew Etienne — he was about the most stubborn man Elias had ever met. The phone calls would continue.

He swiped across the screen and brought the phone to his ear. "Hello. Elias speaking."

"Eli. It's good to hear your voice again," came Etienne's lyric baritone. "I just wanted to give you my condolences. I'm so sorry. Are you and your sister ok? I was planning to stop by the funeral, but then I thought, most of your family didn't know, did they? About us, I mean. So..."

Elias couldn't help a chuckle. Etienne must have been rehearsing how this conversation would go for hours; now everything was spilling out at once.

He pulled the phone away from his mouth and hissed at Abigail. "Go upstairs. I'll be a minute."

"I should've come. I am sorry," Etienne said with a sigh.

"It's ok. Thanks for calling."

"I wanted to know if you're all right."

"I'm fine."

Silence fell on both ends.

Ever since Etienne had found out, Elias thought he, not Etienne, was the one who should start talking. After all, Elias had been the one who cheated. But after half-a-hundred apologies, he had run out of things to say. And Etienne had run out of things to scream back at him.

Etienne's step-mother had beaten good manners into him; that was the only reason he felt he needed to call. He had never even met Elias' parents — they hadn't been at that stage. Well, he had said his condolences and Elias had listened to them. There was nothing else, unless they wanted to re-tread old ground.

Silence lingered.

"I should go, Abby is waiting," Elias said quickly. "Again, thanks for the call."

"If you need anything, drop me a line, ok?"

"Sure. See you, Etienne."

He took the stairs up to his apartment two at a time, then slammed the door behind him. The air inside was stale and dusty. He needed to do a thorough clean up, but seemed to lack the energy to even open a window. Shaking his head, he strode into the kitchen and flung his phone onto the kitchen counter.

"Do you want a drink or anything?" he asked as he pulled the fridge door open to reveal its meagre contents. The siblings hadn't made the time to stop by the grocery store. Nor was Sam, Elias's housemate, around to replenish the stocks; he had headed up to his parents' house up on the Central Coast shortly after Elias had shown up with Abigail in tow. "There's a can of coke and some apple juice. It might have gone off though."

Abigail shook her head. She sunk into the couch and curled into a ball. If not for her black satin dress and smudged makeup, Elias could have easily pretended they were children again and Abigail was sulking on the living room couch after another squabble with her school friends. _If only that were true._ Elias poured himself a glass of water from the tap and sat down next to his sister.

He had never wanted to speak with his parents more than now. They hadn't been the best of parents, especially in the years after what happened with Max, but he hadn't been a blessing of a son either. He had moved out of the house at the first possible chance and refused all offers of help. The move had been a practical decision, but Elias had never denied there had been an element of pleasure in his ability to rub it in that he no longer needed his family. That a recluse and an alcoholic were of no use to him.

Well, he wanted them around now. Or Max. His brother would have been twenty-five now, perhaps settling down with a partner. Elias couldn't even patch things up with Etienne. How was he supposed to deal with the rest of it?

Elias had been thirteen when Max died and thought he had been privy to the entirety of the aftermath. Now he realised his parents had shielded him from a host of cold conversations with the police, the coroner and countless other officials. He had known only the barest details involved in planning a funeral.

The past days had been profoundly educational. Sarah, his father's mentor from rehab, had held his hand through the paperwork involved in getting the bodies released and applications for financial assistance. There was no sign of a will or funeral insurance. Elias would have sold the family car to cover the funeral costs, but it wasn't in his name and it would take months for the inheritance paperwork to be sorted out.

Three days after the coroner finally agreed to release the bodies, Elias had pulled together a modest service. He had gone through the motions, hoping it would bring this chapter of his life to a close. Except the funeral was over, he and Abigail were back in his apartment and he still couldn't quite believe what had happened.

Elias gritted his teeth. _Keep yourself together, mate. For Abby_ _'s sake._

"Funerals suck," he muttered.

Abigail flicked her dark hair away from her face. Both Abigail and Max had always looked distinctly Mediterranean, while Elias was as fair as a person could be. There had been comments about that when they were younger, but Elias had seen photographs of his paternal grandfather as a child. There was no question about it — Elias was a Fitzpatrick through and through.

"Max's was worse; half the bloody school turned up," Abigail said.

"And most of them never had anything to do with Max."

"Your speech today was good though." Abigail sighed and stood up. "Perhaps I'll take the risk on the apple juice after all."

Someone pounded on the door. Elias groaned. Neither he nor Abigail were in the mood for visitors and besides, there was a perfectly serviceable bell to the left of the door. _Is it that difficult to press a button?_

The man on the other side of the door was half a foot taller than Elias and dressed in a well-tailored three-piece suit. Chestnut curls framed his face or, more precisely, his scowl. The man glared down at Elias as if he were a mangy cat, who had just had the audacity to hack out a hairball on his shoes.

"Good evening," Elias said.

"Are you Elias Fitzpatrick?"

"Yes... Can I help you?"

"We have much to discuss. Let us step inside."

"What's this about?" Elias glanced back into the living room. Abigail was still in the kitchen, but the apartment was small, she would be able to hear his conversation with the stranger. That was good. She should be able to grab a phone and ring through to the triple-o within seconds if things took a turn for the worse. "Look, we've had a very tiring day and it's very late now. Perhaps you could stop by another time."

"That is not possible." The man pushed the door open all the way, ignoring Elias' threat to call the police and pointed to the living room couch. "Sit and listen."

Abigail paused in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. "Do we know you?"

"No, you do not. Are you Abigail Fitzpatrick?" When Abigail nodded, the man smiled. "Good. It will be simpler this way."

A chill ran up Elias' spine. _Is this some friend of mum_ _'s? She spent a lot of time in chat rooms the past few years. Or did dad get himself caught up with something illegal?_

"Do you have a reason for bursting in here this time of the night? You have thirty seconds to explain yourself or we'll call the cops!" he said, hoping his voice conveyed a conviction he in no way felt.

The intruder cocked his head. "Be assured, Elias Fitzpatrick, I would not set foot upon this putrid rock, let alone venture into this residence, were there an alternate path. You may call me Ramiel. I am an angel, ordered to this plane by the Archangel Michael. Heaven is in need of your assistance."

There was a long silence.

"What?" Abigail finally said. "Are you out of your mind?"

Elias glanced about. The pocket-knife he usually carried in his backpack was back in his bedroom; he had decided that morning that suits and pocket-knives didn't go well together. The closest thing to a weapon within reach was an umbrella.

"It's time for you to leave now," he said, as he racked his head for ideas.

Ramiel laughed. He closed his eyes, as though concentrating. And there they were — unfurling out of nothing, ripping through his suit and shirt — wings. Three pairs of wings. The upper pair had a wingspan so large that in Elias' cramped living room Ramiel could barely unfurl them halfway.

Mouth hanging open, Elias edged forward and ran his fingers over the feathers. _Holy hell. This isn_ _'t right._ They were slick and pale white, but speckled at the ends with the same shade of brown as Ramiel's hair. Beautiful. Completely and utterly impossible. Elias was into his fourth year of med school, he knew anatomy and what he was seeing was impossible.

_This can_ _'t be real. Can it?_

"There's no such thing as angels," said Abigail, even as she stared at Ramiel's wings. "And humans can't fly."

"What am I then if not an angel?" Neither Abigail nor Elias had an answer to that question and Ramiel was evidently satisfied he had offered them sufficient proof. With a crack as sharp as a whip, he folded his wings and his clothes were repaired. "As I have said, Heaven has a task for you."

Elias pulled back and folded his arms. "All right, even if we accept that Heaven really exists, why would anyone in Heaven have anything to do with me or Abby? What problem can there be that angels can't solve themselves?"

"The 'why should I be troubled with this affair?' question... It usually takes your kind longer to come up with that one," Ramiel replied. "The mixed heritage of the nephilim allows some to possess certain talents angels do not. You know why Heaven has an interest in you. You have visions, do you not? It is a rather peculiar talent."

Abigail gasped, then tried to mask it with a coughing fit. Elias, meanwhile, felt blood rush away from his face. He had always kept his ability quiet. Once, when he was a child, he had told his mother. In response, she scheduled an appointment with a psychologist for him. Elias then had to spend weeks trying to convince her that he had only been fooling around. Only Abigail knew.

"Look, I have no idea —"

"I will not stand about conversing for the rest of the night. We have a finite amount of time," the angel cut in.

He grasped Abigail's wrist and pulled her towards him. Before Elias could react, Ramiel grabbed Elias by the shoulder. The world exploded in a cacophony of colour.


	3. Elias

**Elias**

_What the fuck?_

Elias found himself on the edge of a steep ridge. Far too close to the edge for his liking. He shuffled onto sturdier ground, dry bark and eucalyptus leaves crunching beneath his leather shoes. At least any animals that had been nearby would have been scared off by the racket he produced.

"Abby!" Elias shouted.

He spun around and, realising his sister was right behind him, let out a sigh of relief. Ramiel and Abigail stood just out of arm's reach, the angel still holding Abigail tight. Aside from the three of them, there was no sign of human presence whatsoever. But they were still in Australia, he decided. The bush was quintessentially Australian — the kind of featureless vegetation that covered much of the land between the coast and the searing wasteland of the continent's interior.

Beyond that, he had no clue where they were. It was dark. And not like in the city, where streetlights hung every twenty metres and every placard was lit up. Between the treetops, Elias could make out a paler strip of sky studded with stars — the Milky Way itself, however many million kilometres away.

"What did you do? This can't be real. Where are we?" Abigail asked in a shaky tone. "We'd have to be hours away from anything."

"Let us agree on this: you will do as I say," Ramiel said, then released his grip on Abigail, who didn't waste a moment and scrambled out of the angel's reach. "We are as near to the location of Sariel's first anchor point as I could bring us. There is a cave nearby, we must locate a way inside."

Elias scowled. "What are you talking about? Take us back!"

"Do not attempt to command me, nephilim."

Elias winced. He didn't want to antagonise Ramiel. All the angel had to do was to leave them here. It could be days to the nearest town.

"Nephilim?" Abigail said. "As in children of angels and humans? Are you saying we are nephilim?"

"Do you know nothing at all? Yes, you two are nephilim."

_This is madness._

"And Elias is a seer because we are part-angel?"

Her tone, caught between amazement and incredulity, was the exact reflection of Elias' own thoughts. Ramiel, in contrast, seemed oblivious to the weight of his words. He spoke with the same level of excitement Elias reserved for reading the local cricket results.

"Nephilim are frequently born with powers humans were not meant to possess. We ought not delay. If you have further questions, ask them while we walk."

Ramiel began making his way down the hillside and Elias set off after the angel. In the moonlight, Elias could see only a couple of metres in front of him. He scrambled down as best he could.

"Damn right, I have more questions!" he shouted. "How did we get here? Which of my ancestors was raped by an angel? You haven't even told us why we're here."

_Couldn_ _'t the bloody angel have spared a few seconds and told us we'd be going bush-walking?_ They were in the last weeks of autumn and whatever was said about the wonders of Australia's climate, out in the country night-time temperatures could drop down to zero degrees at this time of the year. Yet here they were, Elias in that cheap business suit he had worn for the funeral and Abigail in a thin cardigan pulled over her knee-length dress.

"There was a time when angels walked freely among humans. Demons too." For the first time, Ramiel's voice softened. "The mortal world was a battleground between Heaven and Hell as much as the other planes are. That was until Sariel, an angel like myself, devised a way to hide your world behind a protective wall that kept out demons and most angels. This warding has kept you safe for two thousand years, but something has gone awry. Sariel's protections weaken and we do not understand why."

"That's... just wonderful," muttered Elias.

He had thought his week couldn't get any worse, yet here he was.

It was tempting to brush off Ramiel as a lunatic. Elias had practice denying the obvious. He had spent the better half of a decade refusing to believe in the supernatural of any kind, always scrambling for a rational explanation for his visions. But he couldn't explain away Ramiel's wings or the teleportation.

_How is a reasonable person supposed to react to something like this?_

Elias' foot caught a tangle of roots and he pitched forward. He did manage to grasp onto a tree trunk and steady himself, but ripped off broad strips of bark and skin as he did so. Behind him, Abigail stepped on a clump of dry leaves and fell onto her back.

"Are you all right?" Elias asked.

She nodded, but as he helped her up, he could feel her trembling. Her cardigan was worthless. He gave her his jacket, although, if Elias were honest, the trembling might have been fear as much as the cold. As a child, the thought of raising her hand in class left Abigail anxious; the insanity they were in the middle of at the moment had to be overwhelming.

Ramiel glanced back at the siblings. "I would advise you to keep up. We do not want to lose one another in this forest."

"Come on, Eli," Abigail said. "He is right. We need to stick together."

_He found us once, I bet he_ _'ll find us again._ Elias motioned for Abigail to walk ahead of him, then called out to Ramiel. "Why do you need me for this job?"

"Sariel has always been reticent. Heaven does not know how the Shield is constructed. We know only that the first anchor for Sariel's warding is located in the vicinity. When we locate the anchor point, you should be able to track Sariel."

"How do I do that?" Elias asked. "I've never been able to control my visions."

"Then I shall aid you."

Elias bit his lip. He had tried to provoke visions when he was younger and only ever succeeded in working up a headache for his trouble. Perhaps the angel had something to teach him. If Elias remembered his Scripture classes correctly, six-winged angels were seraphs — the highest class of angel in Heaven. Ramiel had to be more knowledgeable about visions and how to induce them than Elias was.

"Why Elias though? Aren't there other nephilim around?" Abigail asked.

"He is the only satisfactory option available to me at the present," Ramiel said. "Enough idle talk, I must concentrate."

From then on they moved in silence until they were almost at the bottom of the valley. The trees grew closer together and less light penetrated the canopy. Ramiel halted a few paces before them, then turned to face Elias and Abigail.

"I can go no further; this area has been warded against angels. You must enter first, Elias Fitzpatrick, find the warding sigils and destroy them. Scrape them off the walls line by line if you must."

"Is that the sum of your directions? How am I supposed to scrape them off? With my fingernails? What does a sigil even look like anyway?"

"Make use of your fingernails if you like. Alternatively, a stone will suffice. Your forefathers have used both methods since the days they discovered that fire is warm."

"And the sigils?"

"Isn't that just a kind of symbol?" Abby said.

Ramiel cocked his head. "I suppose that is so."

"All right," Elias said. _I_ _'ve a feeling I don't have much of a choice really_. "If that's all you are going to say, I'm going to scratch off everything that looks like it required a thumb to produce. Let's hope I don't destroy some twenty-thousand-year-old Aboriginal art in the process." Elias ran his hand through his hair. "Do you have a flashlight? I'm not a cat, I can't see in the dark."

Ramiel flicked his fingers and a spark of golden light appeared. Suspended in the air just above Elias' head, it grew to the size of a pomegranate. Elias' breath caught. It was beautiful and, like a ray of sunlight in the middle of a thunderstorm, offered a comforting warmth.

"The light will follow your movement," said Ramiel. "Abigail Fitzpatrick, stay by me. This is a task for your brother alone."

"Can't you just call me Abigail?" she replied and moved to give Elias a hug, but the angel pulled her back. She offered Elias a nervous half-smile. "Good luck, Eli. We'll be waiting for you."

"Thanks," Elias said.

Heart pounding, Elias nodded to Ramiel. In sharply pulling Abigail away when she had reached for Elias, the angel had confirmed what Elias had suspected — Abigail was a hostage intended to assure his continued compliance. At least now Elias understood the crux of the situation.

He turned to leave. Except, he had no clue what direction he ought to be heading.

"Where are the wards precisely?" he asked.

"You are at the edge of the warded area. I surmise the anchor point lies somewhere within."


	4. Elias

**Elias**

As he headed off into the wilderness Elias didn't dare to think how large the warded area might be.

The terrain soon levelled out, which was a small consolation, but there were as many roots for Elias to stumble over as previously. He focused on keeping himself upright, until, after at least half an hour of walking, the trees ended and a sheer cliff emerged out of the darkness. The rock seemed solid, if weathered. Patches of moss grew throughout and an occasional weed eked out a precarious existence in the crevices worn out by millennia of rain.

Elias swore, but not knowing what else to do, he continued along the cliff's base, keeping one hand on the stone as he walked. Somewhere in the darkness, water churned.Shivering as a gust of wind tore through the valley floor, he picked up his pace. The longer he took, the longer Abigail was stuck with Ramiel, a creature they had no reason to trust.

Elias' hand ran over a deep crack. He paused and surveyed the wall again. The stone along this section looked more weathered and was crisscrossed with fractures. One caught his attention. It started well above his head and ran diagonally across the rock face. Elias followed it all the way down to the ground. The crack ended in a dark crevice about a metre high and no more than half a metre wide.

On either side were columns of strange, carmine-coloured symbols. They were too ornate and orderly to be anything natural, but they didn't resemble any alphabet Elias recognised. These sigils, or however one called them, were hardly ancient. Exposed as they were, one good shower would rinse all trace of them away.

_Must be the wards keeping Ramiel out._

Elias searched the base of the cliff until he found a usable rock. One by one, he scraped the sigils away. The sooner Abigail and Ramiel could get inside the wards the better.

He waited for several minutes; there was no sign of them.

Elias swore. _I bet there are more sigils somewhere._

Taking a deep breath, he squeezed himself through the opening. Inside was a passageway, thankfully, wider and with a higher ceiling, though Elias still had to crouch down. The passage meandered left and right, but always sloped down. It wasn't a natural structure or at least not wholly so. The walls were too regular, the floor too even.

After a sharp twist in the passageway, it opened onto a much larger space, which was easily a hundred metres wide. Water dripped down from a crack in the ceiling and pooled at the far side of the chamber before trickling across the floor in a narrow stream.

Elias took careful stock of the cavern trying to spot any further sigils, then laughed as he realised he was standing on them. Carefully, he scratched these off as well.

Moments later Ramiel emerged from the passageway and congratulated Elias on work well done. But the angel's words rang hollow until Elias saw Abigail step out of the tunnel just behind Ramiel. Elias let out a sigh of relief.

"You should've said something about your feet," he said. Abigail wasn't wearing shoes and her legs were scratched up to her knees. "It was so dark, I didn't realise."

She shrugged. "It'll be fine."

Elias resisted the urge to disagree; this wasn't the time for a family argument. Instead, he contented himself with a disapproving shake of his head and made a mental note to attend to the scratches the moment he got his hands on a first aid kit.

"Someone's been here recently," he said to Ramiel. "The sigils at the entrance were drawn after the last spell of rain around here."

Ramiel, whose three-piece suit looked more out of place with every passing minute, glanced about. "I am aware. The sigils at the entrance were a sloppy afterthought. You may have overlooked them, but you walked through two layers of destroyed protective sigils. They had been burned away and not by human means."

"That doesn't sound good," said Abigail.

"No, indeed."

Elias pursed his lips. "What do we do now?"

Ramiel gestured to the water pooling in the chamber. "The water must drain somewhere."

The stream didn't, in fact, drain anywhere. It became increasingly feeble as it meandered through the chamber and petered out completely at the foot of a doorway carved into the chamber's back wall. Though the doorway was low, too low for even Abigail to pass without ducking her head, the intricate sigils carved into the stone around it left no doubt that they were heading in the right direction. Ramiel trailed his hand across the intricate patchwork of sigils, his frown deepening with every line.

"What does it say?" Elias asked.

"Can you see the difference between these and those you saw earlier? These here are Sariel's work. He always had a distinct style." Ramiel tapped his fingers over the sigils and sighed in resignation. "What he created here is remarkable. Protective wards as finely woven together as those guarding the gates of Heaven itself. I strain to comprehend how Sariel could have created this on his own. And yet, the sigils have been made inactive. Crude work, yet effective."

He ducked down and stepped through the doorway. Elias followed with Abigail a step behind him.

The doorway led to another tunnel, but this one wasn't dank, bare stone. On the walls and on the floor were minuscule sigils carved into the rock. Ramiel was right, it was difficult to believe one person or even a single angel had carved all of it. Just stepping on them felt like a desecration.

This tunnel turned out to be far shorter than the one at the entrance.After ten metres, they found themselves in a small, octagonal room covered in the same lacework of sigils. Ramiel conjured a ball of light about the size of a basketball and sent it up to the ceiling.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Light illuminated every detail of the room. A sprawl of newer sigils, each more than a foot high and written in blood defiled Sariel's masterwork on the walls. Washes of dried blood stained much of the floor and in the centre, on the raised dais lay two low mounds of feathers. Elias glanced to Ramiel for an explanation, but the angel seemed even more taken aback than Abigail and Elias.

Abigail walked over to the dais and reached for the feathers.

"Stop!" Ramiel snapped.

She drew her hand back. "Are these angel wings?"

"Yes." Slowly, as if moving against his will, Ramiel approached the dais. "Elias, come here."

Elias' mouth went dry. Up close, it was impossible to deny that these were anything other than angel wings. A right and a left wing, both half furled. They looked about the size of Ramiel's lowest pair, but Elias supposed they could also be the wings of a smaller angel. That was if smaller angels did exist; he was no expert on the subject. He was sure, however, that the angel must have suffered. There were bloodstains all over and where the wings should have joined the angel's body, serrated bones protruded instead.

"Who would do this?" he asked.

Ramiel nudged Abigail away from the dais, then turned to Elias. "Grasp one of the feathers. One of the bigger ones."

If there was anything Elias had ever been sure of in his life, it is that nothing good would follow from obeying Ramiel's instructions. But they were still in the middle of the bush and that meant Ramiel dictated the course of this night's events. Elias pulled at a feather from the tip of the right wing. To his surprise, it came away without resistance.

He held the feather up. It had been beautiful once, now it was dry and ready to crumble at a whisper of a breeze.

"Do you see any image?" Ramiel asked.

"I can't force myself to have a vision by touching something. Maybe other people can, not me."

Ramiel pulled up the sleeve of his jacket and shirt to expose his forearm.The angel took out a small, stout dagger out of his pocket and slid it across his wrist. As Elias watched blood well out of the resulting wound, he couldn't quite form the question he wanted answered.

"Drink."

Elias frowned. "What?"

"My blood will amplify your natural capabilities," Ramiel explained. He leant in so that only Elias could hear his words and added. "Drink, or I will mash your sister's head into the wall."

Elias jerked back, but Ramiel caught him before he managed to escape the angel's reach. He flipped Elias around, holding onto his' neck with one hand and pressed his bleeding wrist against Elias' mouth.

"I have no desire to injure her, but you must co-operate," the angel hissed. "Drink now. I can make you, but I would rather not discomfort you further than I already have."

_Bastard._ Elias tried to say as much, but it was impossible to speak with Ramiel crushing his throat and Ramiel's blood dripping into his mouth. It was a sour, metallic taste that made his lips burn. Struggling against the angel's grip, Elias tried to spit the blood out.

"Drink, Elias," said Ramiel softly.

Abigail was shouting. Elias was touched, she had to know as well as he did that she had no chance of stopping the angel.

_Christ, I don_ _'t want to find out what he could do to her._

Elias sucked in a mouthful of Ramiel's blood and did his best to swallow.

_Blue-tinted light floods the room. Sheets of rough canvas are spread out over the floor and a large wooden crate full of tools stands by the entrance._

Elias blinked and the light in the room changed. His head spun.

"What did you see?"

"Not much. He was working here. Alone, I think."

_That isn_ _'t going to satisfy him_. Before Ramiel forced more of his blood on him, Elias ran his fingers over the rows of smaller, blood-stained feathers that covered the bone. He guessed it wasn't the size of the feather that mattered here. They were so dry and fragile compared to the feathers Elias had touched on Ramiel's wing, it was hard to believe they were of the same substance. When Elias came to the edge of the wing, he took a deep breath and grasped the exposed shard of bone.

_He screams, the sound reverberating in his ears. Pain radiates through every part of his body and all he can see is white._

_"Father, give me strength to finish this task. Father, be merciful. Please."_

_He knows his voice is pitifully weak. He has never been brave or stoic when confronted with injury._

_Wiping the tears out of his eyes, he attempts to focus. The wall carvings are fresh and unsullied; he is proud of them. The floor is now exposed too, there is no need any more for the protective canvas sheets. His blood drips onto the floor, but that is part of the plan — it will strengthen the spells._

_Yet he doesn_ _'t dare to look down and face the damage he has inflicted upon himself. It hurts so much more than he imagined._

_Muttering a litany of prayers he knows will be unanswered, he reaches for the blade again._

Elias sunk to his knees and bent forward as he threw up everything he had eaten that day. He could feel Abigail holding him upright. She was saying something he couldn't make out. He couldn't form the words to explain. It was the pain of it, searing, blinding. _Why doesn_ _'t it stop?_

He felt himself be wrenched up onto his feet and someone wiped the vomit off his chin.

"What did you see?" came Ramiel's low voice.

Elias tried to meet the angel's gaze, but he couldn't quite make out where the angel actually was. "It was part of the ritual. Sariel... he cut off his own wings."

There was a long pause. Or at least it seemed like a long pause for Elias. He rubbed the sides of his head, the pain was beginning to recede, but far too slowly.

"What did Sariel do after he completed the ritual?"

"I don't know."

Ramiel grumbled out something in what sounded like a foreign language, then he switched back to English. "We must know. You understand that."

"Let him be," Abigail pleaded. "Eli is not well."

Elias' vision began to solidify; he could now make out Ramiel's figure. The angel offered Elias his still-bleeding wrist. Elias shook his head.

"Drink," Ramiel said.

"I'm not a vampire."

Ramiel scoffed, then grabbed Abigail. A moment later he had his dagger pressed against the side of her neck. He had moved so swiftly neither Elias nor Abigail had the chance to react.

"I warned you about what would occur should you disobey me on this," the angel said. His cobalt-blue eyes shone unnaturally bright, as if lit up from within. "I will not have this evening wasted by your incompetence."

"Ok, all right! I'll do whatever you say, I promise, just don't hurt my sister." Elias swallowed bile rising in his throat once more. _Pompous bastard. I hope you rot in Hell for this._ He already felt as if he had been poisoned, more blood would only make him worse.

Ramiel slipped the dagger back into his pocket and ran his thumb over Abigail's cheek. "Good."

"I'm sorry," she said, as Elias lifted Ramiel's bloodied wrist up to his mouth.

"Not your fault."

_A steep hill overlooks the burning remains of a city. The thick wooden walls intended to keep the inhabitants safe are a smouldering ruin. A familiar voice calls out in greeting. He turns to see Uriel and Jehudiel make their way down the winding path from the burning citadel to the barren outcrop where he stands watch._

_"No survivors," Jehudiel says._

_He had not expected any. The demons are merciless and they are thorough. Uriel and Jehudiel came too late. The angels usually are._

_She looks in the mirror and sees nothing. The bathroom is dripping wet; she had been in the shower for too long. She wipes away the condensation on the mirror with her hand._

_Her teeth need to be brushed, her hair needs to be dried and arranged into some passable hairstyle. It has been a bad week so far, but this morning she would do it. She has to._

_The medication. She needs to take her medication as well. The tablets would help. She should call the shrink too. The new woman is helpful._

_His fingers bleed. He has stabbed himself with the chisel too many times of late. He is working too long without a break, even angels need rest. But they might be coming soon, one can never predict when. They are searching for him._

_"Father, enough." Yasara takes his hand into her own and pulls the chisel out of his reach. "We will start tomorrow at dawn again. "Come with me."_

_He has never been good at refusing her, so he follows her through the tunnel and out of the cave. She is no longer young, but is the oldest in her tribe by two dozen years. He is still not reconciled with that knowledge. Every wrinkle and every grey hair brings an ache of loss to his heart. When she passes, she will be lost to him forever._

_He rubs his eyes as they step out into the fresh air. In the light of the full moon, he can make out the twin snow-capped peaks that loom over the valley. The wind roars and despite the multiple layers of clothing, Yasara shivers. For her sake, he should have chosen a different place. Below, in the lowlands, spring has come long ago, but at this elevation winter is slow to relinquish its grip._

Elias blinked and Abigail's face hovered above him. He didn't understand what she was saying to him. _The angel. Where is the angel?_ The woman, Yasara, was important in some way. Elias needed to tell Ramiel that. _That would satisfy him, wouldn_ _'t it? It had to._

He started to explain, but the visions pulled him back in.

_"Maria, I forgot to say, the dishwasher is playing up again! I'll have a look at it when I get back, ok?" he says, as he walks through the house._

_At the doorway to the bedroom, he frowns. He thought he had heard his wife pattering around on this side of the house._

_"Maria, where are you?" he calls out. "Did you hear what I said about the dishwasher?"_

_Maria screams._

_"Yasara, my dearest," he whispers. "Don't go, not yet."_

"Elias Fitzpatrick. Elias," Ramiel's voice came from some unfathomable distance. "Hold on to me, I will carry you and your sister home. Do you hear me? All will be well."


	5. Abigail

**Abigail**

Abigail landed with a dull thud on the worn-out, once-cream carpet of Elias' living room. When she clambered up to her feet, she saw that Ramiel had deposited Elias on the couch and, with a stiff grimace plastered on his face, was peering down at Elias' quivering figure.

"What's wrong him?" Abigail reached for Elias, hoping to steady him, but he flinched away from her hand. "You need to do something!"

"Do you have potable water in this house?"

"No, we specialise in swamp water here," she scowled.

Ramiel's lips narrowed. "Bread too, if you have any. And a blanket may be of use to your brother also."

Abigail bit back another snide retort; sarcasm wouldn't help Elias. She crossed the short hallway between the living room and Elias' bedroom in three strides. For once, she was grateful for the apartment's compact layout. She tore the covers off the bed Elias had surrendered to her for the past two weeks, then added the blanket he had been using after he had exiled himself to the living room. The way Elias looked at the moment, Abigail was ready to give him every blanket in the apartment block.

Dropping the pile of bedding by the living room couch, Abigail hurried into the kitchen. She figured that if she were to hand Elias a glass, he would drop it within seconds and then they would have glass shards to deal with too. She rummaged around the kitchen until she found a water bottle and filled it up from the tap.

"Blanket, water," she mumbled under her breath. "Bread. Where does he keep the bread?"

The only bread she found was the last three slices of sandwich bread, which sported a lively colony of mould along the underside. Abigail flung it into the bin and rifled through the pantry.

_A box of salted crackers is close enough, right?_

While Abigail had rummaged through the kitchen, Ramiel had taken off his suit jacket. He knelt beside Elias, who didn't seem to realise that the angel was there. Eyes wide, he stared out past Ramiel's shoulder to the middle of the room, as if focusing on something only he could see. _Bloody Hell, what if he doesn_ _'t snap out of this? Whatever this is._ Abigail sighed as she watched Ramiel gingerly reach out towards Elias and rest his hand on the side of Elias' head.

"Can you help him?" she asked.

Ramiel gave no indication he had heard Abigail. He rolled his thumb across Elias' jugular and chanted a long string of words in a language so full of strange consonants no human could hope to replicate the sound.

Elias screamed and pitched his whole body forward as if he was desperately trying to cling to something visible only to him. Abigail dropped the water bottle and the crackers. Ramiel caught Elias' wrists, while Abigail grabbed her brother by the waist. Elias snarled, his face turning crimson and struggled against their grasp. If not for Ramiel, Abigail would have been flung onto her back.

It seemed like an hour before Elias' screaming subsided and his flailing lost its desperate strength, which even Ramiel had struggled to contain without inflicting lasting damage to Elias. Abigail and Ramiel manoeuvred Elias back onto the couch. Abigail wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, but was too afraid to touch him otherwise. His eyes were closed now and he panted, a layer of sweat glimmering across his forehead.

"Will he be ok?"

Ramiel sighed. "Have patience. He is not lost yet."

 _Yet?_ Abigail bit her lip, scrutinising her brother. It felt like hours until Elias' eyes finally drifted open.

"Mum... I-I don't understand. What?" He sniffled, pulling the blanket tight. "Never any chance for him. I don't understand —"

_Mum? As in mum and dad?_

"Drink, Eli," Abigail said, grabbing the water bottle.

As much as she wanted to press him on the details, it would do Elias no good to dwell on that at the present. Or ever for that matter. She had to wonder, though, what it said about her that she half-wished she had been the one who had seen the vision. The official explanation of the events still didn't make sense to her.

Elias spilt half of the water on the blanket, but he seemed aware of his surroundings, which was an improvement.

"The crackers are ok, right? There's no bread," Abigail said.

"Any sustenance is better than none; visions tire those not used to them," the angel replied. He picked up the box of crackers and peered at them with a dubious expression. "Take the other blanket and rest, Abigail. I will watch over him until morning."

"I'm not leaving him alone."

"As you wish."

Abigail made herself comfortable on the floor and rested her back against the side of the couch. "Elias, are you up for food?"

"Just leave me be. My head hurts," he replied.

Silence, broken only by Elias' heavy breathing, fell over the room. Now that the adrenaline rush was running out, Abigail became aware of her own exhaustion. It had been a long and difficult day even before Ramiel had knocked on Elias' door. She did want to sleep, but not with Elias still so unwell.

"Ramiel? It's been a while since you were on Earth, hasn't it?" she asked. She had a better chance of staying awake if she kept a conversation going.

"More than two and a half thousand years. I spent a winter in Mesopotamia. Nebuchadnezzar II was the local king at the time. But I expect his entire empire slipped out of human memory a hundred generations ago."

"Didn't he destroy the temple in Jerusalem?"

Ramiel frowned. "Perhaps. I was only there for a few months. Do humans consider that an important event?"

"I think so? Or at least the Jews do." Abigail shrugged. Elias had been the star pupil in Sunday school; she had spent the time there sketching her favourite anime characters. "So you've been gone all these years... Is it really different?"

"The smell has improved."

Abigail laughed. It was amazing when you thought about it. Here was a real angel sitting in the stained armchair Elias and his house-mate had picked up from the side of the road during the last council clean up. A real angel, who seemed willing to answer questions. Here was the chance to find out everything: God, Jesus, Muhammad and Dark Matter.

"Yasara," Elias said. "Who was she to Sariel?"

Abigail sighed. For a moment she had forgotten what had led up to their present circumstances.

"Yasara was his daughter. We should discuss this in the morning, you are in a worse state than I anticipated," Ramiel replied.

"And whose fault is that?" Groaning, Elias pushed himself up. "And let's be clear here. I don't know how to kill an angel, but if you ever threaten my sister again, I'll find a way and I will do it."

Abigail felt herself blush. It was brave of Elias to try the over-protective older brother spiel, but she had no idea what he wanted to achieve from this. Ramiel had no reason to take him seriously.

To her surprise, the angel did look somewhat chastised. "Very well, I will keep that in mind." He ran a hand through his hair. "Please do forgive me for my behaviour earlier. Evidence of dismemberment unsettled me."

"You don't seem so upset now," Elias replied.

"Much of what I have seen since I returned to Earth has left me uneasy. However, you said yourself that Sariel was responsible. It would suggest that the removal of the wings was part of the ritual he performed to establish the protective shield over your world. This might well explain why he never returned to Heaven. But enough of this, you ought to rest."

"I'm too agitated to sleep. I can still taste your blood, you know."

"Have some crackers then," Abigail said. "Or do you want something else?"

Reluctantly, Elias tore open the packaging, then turned to Abigail. "You should go to bed."

"I don't think —"

"Abby! I'll be fine."

"All right."

The moment Abigail stood up, she felt the full weight of her exhaustion. She grabbed the first set of clothes she found and headed to the bathroom. Elias' apartment was a typical two-bedroom, one-bathroom rental with a soap scum-covered shower and a bathtub too small for anyone over the age of five. She was about to take a guess on the knobs in the shower, when she heard raised voices.

She nudged the bathroom door open and leaned out into the corridor.

"So you've done this before? Forced yourself on unsuspecting people, kidnapped them, forced them to drink your blood," came Elias' hoarse voice. "That's not a normal thing to do in this day and age. You do realise that, don't you? Probably never was."

"It has been necessary a small number of times in the past, but never with a nephilim as inexperienced as you are. When I last walked in the mortal world, nephilim seers were skilled. They were trained to wield the full extent of their talent since childhood. If they required an angel's blood, they were the ones to request it." Ramiel was silent for a long moment, then added. "How do you feel now, Elias?"

"Like I'm in need of a lobotomy."

Abigail sighed. "If he is so useless to you, why did you come here?" she asked as she strode back into the living room.

"He is not one I would have preferred," Ramiel replied. "I sought a seer who might have local knowledge of this region, but when I investigated, I was at a loss. The number of humans living in this world grows by thousand-folds, yet the nephilim shrink in number. Worse, four nephilim I wished to approach all died within the past three months."

"These weren't natural deaths, I take it," Elias said.

"Three suicides, one murder."

Abigail glanced over to Elias, who dropped his head and was playing with the corner of his blanket. _He has got to be thinking the same thing right now._ Yet he said nothing.

She frowned. Perhaps it was all too much for Elias tonight. "So were these deaths staged? And our parents' deaths too?"

"I cannot say. I did not linger to investigate. Singularly, these deaths are nothing unusual. There is a reason the nephilim are rare. Plenty of angels certainly enjoyed themselves with mortal women in those early days, but those children were born troubled and prone to many maladies of the mind. Perhaps one in three dozen had children of their own. On the other hand, four unnatural deaths in twelve weeks seem peculiar."

"Are you saying mentally ill people are actually nephilim?" Elias said.

"Hardly." Ramiel slid his hand over the cracked leather armrest of the armchair. "Madmen are far more numerous than nephilim."

"I guess grandma was right, there is something in the blood. Elias, was there anything in the vision? Something odd or..."

Elias' head snapped up and he glared at his sister. "Other than the murder-suicide? No, it was just a normal, quiet day out in the suburbs. I've told you before, I don't want to discuss it."

"But you saw who stabbed dad? Was it definitely just the two of them there?"

"Abigail," Ramiel cut in. "For your brother's sake, tonight is not the time."


	6. Elias

**Elias**

"Elias?" Abigail poked at his bicep. "Hey, are you awake?"

He rolled over and groaned. The light streaming in from the balcony door hurt; he clamped his eyes shut. "What time is it?"

"Eleven. How're you feeling?"

"Can you shut the blinds?"

Without opening his eyes, Elias flung back his blanket and slid off the couch. The light dimmed as Abigail adjusted the blinds. Slowly, he took the risk and opened his eyes. Everything seemed blurry and shadows of featureless figures drifted at the edges of his vision.

"Did I get drunk yesterday?"

Abigail shook her head. "You're not hungover."

 _Then why do I feel like I_ _'ve been mauled by a rhino?_ Elias' shirt and jacket smelled of vomit. He examined his suit. It wasn't the striped navy one he wore when he was going out, but the black one he had bought for job interviews. The suit and the shirt were wrinkled throughout. No surprise considering he had awoken in it. More curious were the dirt and bits of plant matter stuck onto his trousers.

_Wait._

Everything that had happened the previous day tumbled over Elias with the velocity of the Niagara Falls. _Holy crap._ It hadn't seemed possible, but the throbbing in Elias' head worsened.

"Abby, the name Ramiel means something to you, right?"

"Yeah, you didn't dream him up or anything. But when I woke up he was gone."

"He got what he wanted. Why should he hang around?" Elias pulled broken bits of eucalyptus leaf off his clothes. He could scarcely believe he had allowed himself to fall asleep while in this state. "I'm going to clean myself up."

Elias' first stop was the laundry closet, where he and Sam kept their first-aid kit. There was little of use there. Sam had pulled his shoulder at work a few weeks prior and subsequently had used up their supply of painkillers. Groaning, Elias moved onto the wardrobe in his bedroom. He pulled out the first jumper and pair of pants within reach, then fished through his sock-drawer until he pulled out a small, plastic bag. The hoard was pitiful — six caffeine pills and two ecstasy tablets. He needed to refill his supplies, but unfortunately, he had to wait until payday. _Capitalism makes slaves of us all._

The ecstasy would do him little at the present moment, but a hit of caffeine was worth a try. Elias dry-swallowed two of the pills and hid the bag back under his socks.

His phone vibrated and Elias fumbled as he pulled it out of his back pocket.

"Hello? Elias speaking."

"Good day. This is Johann from Sydney University Student Services. How are you doing?"

"I'm awake," Elias replied. "Can't claim much more than that."

"Yeah, I feel you." Johann's voice was perky and smooth. "You've made an application for special considerations, is that correct?"

"And? Do you have the outcome?"

"It has been accepted. However, you must be aware that you may not be admitted to the practical portion of your degree at the next stage of study. It would be problematic from a patient protection perspective."

Elias ran a hand through his hair. "I'll need to repeat a year. Is that what you are saying?"

"It's a possibility, yes."

"That's bloody amazing."

Johann winced. "It blows, I know. If you want my opinion, do what you can and sit the exams. Then the university will be able to give you leniency in the marking at least."

While Johann sounded sympathetic, Elias wanted to give him the finger nevertheless. He was probably some sixth-year Arts/Media student, who thought exam study meant thirty minutes of reviewing lecture slides between a lunch date and an early afternoon beer at the uni bar. If only it were as easy as that for a med student. And Elias had Abigail to look after as well.

"Thanks, I'll consider my options," he said without bothering to attempt sincerity. "Thanks for your call."

The next day there was no sign of Ramiel either. If not for Abigail's obsessive need to analyse and re-analyse what had happened, Elias would have happily concluded that the angel and their night-time stroll had been only a product of his over-active imagination. And as much as he had been annoyed by the call from student services the previous day, now that he was back on campus, he was glad to be there. The last two weeks had been a trial and although he got along with Abigail well enough, it had been years since they had spent so long at such close proximity.

The comforting familiarity of the university campus, however, cracked and splintered into a thousand shards when the sliding doors to the Law Annex cafe pulled open in front of Elias. He couldn't possibly miss Etienne, who was taller and darker-skinned than the vast majority of the students. And who, at the present moment, was hugging Jordan Hammond. Elias hung by the door until Jordan pulled back and after a careless wave, walked away.

"Etienne!" Elias called out.

Etienne's smile faded when he saw Elias. He cut through the line of students lining up to order. When he made it over to Elias, he hesitated, then offered his hand. Elias tried to produce a polite smile as he shook Etienne's hand.

"My condolences, Eli," Etienne said. "How are you doing?"

Elias shrugged. He was growing very tired of hearing that question.

"Grab us a table, I'll take care of the food. Chicken schnitzel, right?"

"Sure," Elias muttered.

Although it was only mid-morning, as usual, all the tables were already taken. Elias walked back outside and chose a spot on the lawn a couple of metres away. He whiled away time on his phone until Etienne slid onto the grass beside him, then thrust the chicken sandwich and a cup of scorching hot coffee in Elias' hands.

_He_ _'s changed his aftershave._

"Thanks," Elias said. "How much was that?"

Etienne waved Elias' question away. "So you seriously need notes?" he said. "I'd have thought you'd take the rest of the semester off."

"It'll only create problems down the track. Besides, it's best I keep busy. Idleness doesn't suit me."

"Yeah, I know."

Elias looked away. They had been over this already and more than once, but Etienne's cold tone hurt nevertheless.

He was at least speaking to Elias civilly again, this was more courtesy than any of their mutual friends were willing to offer Elias. Etienne had been far from Elias' first call in his quest for lecture notes, but apparently, Etienne had won their entire cohort in the break-up.

"So how's the family?" Elias asked. _That_ _'s the kind of thing people ask when they have nothing else to say, isn't it?_

"Dad just came back from Bamako. He... It's not a good topic, is it?"

"It's fine."

It wasn't. At the word "dad" a knot had twisted in Elias' stomach. But he had brought up the subject and when you made your bed, you had to lie in it.

Etienne gave Elias a dubious look. "He has all sorts of nasty stories to tell at dinner parties now. My step-mum is furious; he's already planning to head back and work another mission." He dug into his bag and pulled out a notebook. "The notes you wanted. I didn't have time to type them up yet."

Elias flipped through the pages of Etienne's familiar, spider-like handwriting. He had a lot of work to catch up on. "Thanks," he said. "What about you? Wouldn't you rather he stay in Sydney too?"

"Well, sure. Mali is a tad more dangerous than your standard shift at the Royal North Shore. But then, I think, am I just a selfish arse? They're so short on doctors over there. I don't know, where do you draw the line?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I always wanted to try my hand at aid work too, but I don't want to get kidnapped in the Congo or something. Or maybe I'd just crack under the pressure." Elias sipped his coffee and hissed in pain. "Why is the coffee from this place always hotter than the pits of Mount Doom?"

"The baguettes make it worth it. Have you —"

_The microwave beeps. Balancing her laptop in one hand, Abigail reaches for the plastic bowl inside the microwave. She sets it on the tabletop and pulls off the lid. Steam wafts up. Abigail turns to open the fridge and feels the laptop begin to slide._

_"Klutz," she mutters, setting the laptop on the tabletop beside her breakfast._

Elias rubbed his eyes. That was the fourth vision in two days. Less than two days really. It was only half past ten now. He could only assume this was because he had drunk Ramiel's blood. Previously, he rarely had a vision more frequently than once a month.

"Sorry, what did you say?" Elias asked.

Etienne paused mid-sentence and narrowed his eyes. "You should make an appointment with Stafford. My notes don't do justice to his lecture. Have you been taking something again?"

"I haven't," Elias replied. Other than the Nurofen and the caffeine pills, of course, but that wasn't what Etienne meant. "I told you, I'm done with that shit. Couldn't afford to waste money on anything of that kind at the moment even if I wanted to. Do you remember what Stafford's office hours are?"

"You spaced out and your pupils widened far too much for the amount of light out here."

"I drifted off on an odd trail of thought, nothing more. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ignore you, I've got a lot on my mind."

Etienne rolled his eyes as he pulled back the wrapper on his baguette.

"Fine," Elias said. "I was thinking of the jam sandwiches mum used to make for us."

Although his words were a brazen lie, Elias enjoyed Etienne's chastised expression. Elias had spent the past two months as the guilty party and no one hesitated to remind him of it.

"Anyway, I'll copy the notes tonight and get them back to you tomorrow." Elias clambered up. "I have a meeting with Wong in ten. You know how she is about punctuality. Again, thanks for the coffee and for... well, for not hanging up on me."

"No worries," Etienne sighed. "Good luck getting out of Wong's office before three."

Nodding, Elias turned away. He walked as slowly as he could without making Etienne suspicious. His meeting with Professor Wong wasn't for another half an hour, but he didn't think he could stomach another minute of this stilted conversation with his ex.


	7. Elias

**Elias**

"Eli? Where were you?" Abigail shouted from the kitchen as Elias closed the front door behind him.

He set his backpack down against the wall and threw his bomber jacket on top of it.

"I stopped by the gym after class," he replied. "What've you been up to?"

Abigail motioned towards the living room. "Some more research. But there really isn't much on Ramiel at all. He's only mentioned in the Book of Enoch and that's not even in the Bible. And what's in Enoch doesn't help much either."

"The Bible has two different Genesis stories mashed together in the same chapter. It's hardly the most robust source."

"There aren't many other sources to go to, are there? Maybe I should go chat with a priest or something." Abigail shrugged. "You hungry? I can make some burgers; I bought bread buns today."

"Sounds good."

While Abigail worked in the kitchen, Elias snuck a look at the open laptop she had left on the living room coffee table. She had been busy. He gave up counting the tabs she had left open. There was everything from Youtube videos to academic publications to dodgy-looking conspiracy forums.

The floor shuddered. Elias glanced up just in time to see Ramiel straighten up and hide his wings.

_Shit._

"Ramiel?" Abigail poked her head out from the kitchen, then bit her lip. "Hi...um, you're back then. Why did you leave so suddenly? Did something happen?"

"No. Elias seemed to be recovering well, so I returned to my mission."

Elias closed the laptop. "Any success?"

"I followed up on the woman you spoke of," Ramiel replied as he looked around the room. "Sariel mentioned Yasara to me only once and in passing. Heaven endeavours to keep records of all nephilim, thus I attempted to find Yasara. There was little to find. The records for those days were sparse; Heaven had more pressing concerns than the lineages of the nephilim. The records state that she had been born in the Roman Empire, nothing more."

Elias chuckled. "That's not the least bit helpful."

"Ramiel, Elias and I want to eat. Do you want dinner too?" Abigail asked, frowning as she spoke.

The angel seemed as taken by surprise at the question as Elias was. He cocked his head at Abigail and was silent for a long moment.

"Angels don't require sustenance like humans do," he said finally.

"Ok, well, I thought it'd be polite to ask. You don't mind if we eat though, right?"

She didn't actually wait for Ramiel's answer before she withdrew back to the kitchen. There was banging of a pan against the stove top, which Elias thought didn't bode well, but to his relief, Abigail soon returned with two plates in her hand. Abigail and Elias took the couch and ate hunched over their plates, while Ramiel seated himself in the armchair.

"Elias, have you had any visions since we last spoke?"

"None about Sariel or Yasara."

Abigail set down her plate next to her laptop and wiped remnants of barbecue sauce off her lips. "What about the visions in the cave? There's got to be more than a single name. What did you actually see?"

"It wasn't a single coherent scene," Elias said. "First, it was Sariel in a burnt-out town. Two other angels were there as well, but there was nothing to be done. They had arrived too late to save the town. I think that was the moment Sariel first started thinking of creating this protective shield. Then he was in a cave, similar to the one the three of us found, but incomplete. Yasara came in and told Sariel to finish for the night. They then walked back to the place where she lived. And the last bit was barely anything — Yasara was dying. I didn't see how or when, just that Sariel was completely distraught."

"He was very fond of her," Ramiel said quietly.

Elias nodded, saying nothing. He had felt Sariel's rage and anguish at the loss; the English language lacked the words to convey the depth of those emotions.

"Did Sariel have any favourite places? The Roman Empire was pretty big, even by modern standards," Abigail said.

"None that I am aware of." Ramiel leaned in and examined the TV remote Elias had left on the arm of the couch that morning. "What do you remember of your surroundings? Was it cold? What types of trees were nearby?"

"It was spring, but still cold. I — or rather Sariel could see snow-capped mountain peaks when they came out of the cave. Two peaks, almost identical." Elias tapped his fingers against the coffee table. "You said Sariel erected this shield two thousand years ago. Is that precisely two thousand?"

"The count is now closer to two thousand and fifty."

Abigail pulled her laptop towards her and lifted the lid. "That's good news. If I remember my HSC Ancient History right, at that time the Roman Empire wasn't at its biggest size and heaps of its territories were newly conquered. And how old was Yasara when she died? We backtrack to her age and we can narrow the area we are looking for."

"She was old. More than seventy I'd guess," Elias replied.

"Let's start in Italy then. The oldest territory and there are a lot of mountains there."

"Can I have the laptop then?" Elias said. "I'm the only one who knows what we are looking for."

Within the first minutes, he realised that he had overestimated the degree of knowledge he had gained from his Italian classes. He had thought they had been quite thorough in covering Italian history and geography. His teacher had talked at some length about the Alps and the Apennines. Yet she had neglected to mention the Dolomites at all or to explain that both the Alps and Apennines were in fact subdivided into a number of different mountain ranges.

Elias gave up on reading the names after the first ten minutes. He flicked through photograph after photograph of snow-capped mountains against cloudless skies and grimaced. Whether it was an image from Sicily or Lombardy, they all began to look identical.

In the end, after a fruitless hour, he tiredly typed in "twin mountains in Italy". The moment the page loaded, he burst out laughing. _A smarter person would_ _'ve tried this first._

"Castor and Pollux in the Pennine Alps. You could hardly ask for more Roman names than these," he said as he clicked through to the map of the area.

"Is me or does Sariel have a knack for choosing places no one wants to live in even in this century?" Abigail said as she peered over Elias' shoulder. "This is a hundred kilometres past Woop Woop and there are seven billion of us fighting for liveable space these days."

Elias turned the laptop so Ramiel could see and pointed to the two peaks. "Sariel's mountains are these two, so the cave must be in a valley nearby."

"I can carry you with me," said Ramiel. "May I look at the map?"

Elias handed the laptop to Ramiel so that the angel could get a closer look. He had no idea how angelic teleportation worked, but he had no desire to end up in Tanzania when they were heading for the Italian-Swiss border.

"I'll just clean up then since we have a minute," Abigail said.

"Hold on," Elias said. "I think Ramiel and I can do this on our own. This is really in the middle of nowhere and the summits of these mountains are four-thousand metres above sea-level. This means the valley is probably at about three-thousand. I bet even if it's nearly summer over there, it'll still be freezing. No need for us both to have to suffer it. Besides, don't you have work tomorrow?"

Abigail sighed as she gathered up the remnants of their dinner and headed towards the kitchen. "I do."

"Ramiel and I won't be long, don't worry."

"You have no way of knowing that."

Elias followed his sister into the kitchen. "Ok, fair point —"

"I get it, Eli," Abigail pulled Elias towards her and hissed into his ear. "I understand why you don't want me around. To him, I'm disposable goods and you don't trust him not to try the same thing he did the other day. But I don't trust him to look after your best interests either."

She had a valid point. Elias could tell her that Ramiel still needed Elias' visions or that the angel's contrition about threatening Abigail seemed genuine, but he was no more convinced by these arguments than Abigail would be.

"I have a feeling things will go smoother if you stayed away from Italy," he said.

"A feeling? What the Hell does that mean?"

"I don't know. Maybe an after-effect of his blood?"

It was nothing of the sort, but Elias had to be responsible and keep his sister out of trouble. If a little lie was what it took, so be it.

Abigail raised an eyebrow. "You'd better not be making that up."

"I'm not."

"All right. If you're not back in twenty-four hours, I'll call the police," Abigail said and turned on the kitchen tap. "I'll call the Italian police too. How do you think angel wings fare against an assault rifle?"

Elias gave Abigail a quick hug and slunk to his bedroom to change before he or Abigail had the courage to acknowledge that the police wouldn't help. They'd never believe her.


	8. Elias

**Elias**

Unlike the previous times, this trip wasn't an instantaneous movement from one location to another. This time, as Ramiel held him in his arms, Elias could feel they were moving at an impossible speed. Bright colours flashed. Air roared over Elias as if he stood two feet from a jet engine.

They landed with a thud that echoed throughout the valley. If not for Ramiel's iron grip, Elias would have collapsed. He struggled not to throw up. If this was what inter-continental angel-flight felt like, he preferred the twenty-hour nuisance of economy class travel with the worst-ranked airline in the world.

"It's ok, I'm still alive," said Elias once the urge to turn his stomach inside-out subsided. "You could've warned me."

Ramiel chuckled. "To what purpose? Would it have made it a better experience for you?"

"Next time I'm going to throw up on your shoes."

Elias hadn't accounted for the time difference between Australia and Italy. It had been nearly nine in the evening when he got home. Here it was the middle of the day.

But Elias was glad the sun was up. He had never been to Europe, let alone to his mother's homeland. Had they arrived in the middle of the night, he wouldn't have had the opportunity to appreciate the beauty of the landscape. The snow still gleamed on the mountain peaks, but down where Elias and Ramiel stood, spring was in full bloom. Tiny flowers of every colour carpeted the ground.

"There is nothing here. No wards, no angelic presence aside from my own," Ramiel said.

Elias shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat — the downside of life in the mountains already obvious. Being a life-long Sydneysider, the warmest coat he owned was no protection against the biting wind that rolled through the valley.

"This isn't the right place; I saw the mountains from a different angle in the vision. It's to the west of here, I think."

Ramiel motioned for Elias to lead the way and followed a few steps behind. He had exchanged the three-piece suit for a windbreaker, sneakers and a thick pair of jeans identical to those Elias wore. Both of them could have used proper hiking boots too, but it was an improvement. A man wearing a formal suit out here would inspire no less incredulity than one in a toga.

"It seems crazy that Sariel's daughter lived here two-thousand years ago. That's a hundred generations between then and now. And I bet the mountains look no different than they did back then," Elias said. "And you haven't been on Earth for longer than that. It must be disorientating."

"An angel more familiar with your world than I am provided me with a short history of the past two thousand years. Nevertheless, I concede, significant gaps yet remain."

"You should go to the theatre or something. I bet you'd be into Shakespeare."

Elias jerked to a stop. They had followed the curve of a hill for some time, seeing nothing save grass and wildflowers. Now Elias could make out a huddle of buildings in the distance. He glanced over to the twin peaks of Castor and Pollux, then swore. He should have paid more attention to the satellite images, instead of focusing on the topographic maps. The buildings mightn't have been labelled, but they were probably visible on satellite photographs.

"Why does the internet always screw you over the moment it matters?" he mumbled.

Ramiel caught up to Elias. "I was under the impression no one lived here."

"So was I. We need to get closer. From what I remember, the houses stand just about where the entrance to the cave should be."

As they drew closer, Elias' head began to throb. Humanoid figures drifted on the edge of his vision and shivers ran along his back. The shivering often meant a vision, but as Elias braced himself for the onslaught, nothing came.

"You are correct," Ramiel said. "There are wards here. More subtle ones than what you encountered before; not intended to bar angels from entry."

"Is there something to keep out humans? This place... It's like it's doing something to me."

"There is a ward that acts as a suggestion for humans to avoid the area, but it would not affect nephilim. Could this be a forewarning of a vision?"

"I don't think so. My head's killing me and that usually doesn't happen until after the vision."

"Have you ever been to a mountainous area before? It may only be altitude sickness."

"That's —"

_"Maria? Maria! No, please!"_

Elias whirled around. _What the hell was that? Dad?_

Ramiel and Elias were alone with only the flowers for company. Elias grimaced. Another echo of his father's death, nothing more.

Ramiel sighed and helped Elias down onto the grass. "You have been having more frequent visions since our last meeting, yes? The last of my blood should leave your body in approximately a week, then the frequency should be reduced."

"Can't wait," Elias muttered darkly.

After a couple of minutes, the shivers and the hazy shapes at the periphery of his vision receded. The headache, on the other hand, only grew worse. He had a feeling Ramiel's altitude sickness theory was correct. Groaning, he climbed to his feet.

"Let's keep walking. Anything to take my mind off my head," he said.

Ramiel looked dubious, but said nothing as he set off towards the houses.

When they drew closer Elias could see that all the buildings were old, though kept in good repair. The largest of them, a church judging by the belfry, appeared newly painted. Unfenced gardens with neat rows of black dirt stretched out on either side of the modest complex.

A door to one of the smaller buildings swung open. In the silence of the Alpine valley, Elias heard the door's hinges grind. A small man in a white robe emerged, carrying a bucket.

"That's a monk," Elias said. "It's a good place for a monastery, I'll give them that."

He rifled through the long shut-away memories of school Scripture classes and Sunday school from back when his mother still made the family go to church. Black robes — the Benedictine order. Brown robes — the Franciscans. Cistercians didn't even dye their robes. And white was the colour of the Carthusians. _Aren_ _'t they the silent ones? This could get awkward._

The man must have noticed them. He walked towards them and raised his hand in greeting. For the lack of a better idea, Elias mirrored the gesture.

"Good day," he said. "How are you going?"

The monk cleared his throat. "Buongiorno, signori. Mi dispiace, non parlo inglese. Siete persi?"

Elias' two years of high school Italian got him only as far as the monk's first two sentences. He had no idea what the monk was asking and even if he had, he didn't know enough to reply.

"He asks if we are lost," Ramiel said.

"You understand Italian?" Elias sighed with relief. Angels had their uses after all. "Ok, tell him we're not lost, we are on a scouting trip for my university thesis. I'm researching cave systems in the area."

Ramiel paused for the long moment, then launched into a ramble of Italian. The monk set down his bucket as he listened. When Ramiel fell silent, he shook his head and in a hesitant tone said something Elias didn't catch.

"He asks us to return to our camp. Visitors without prior approval are not permitted," Ramiel translated.

"Tell him that we will and that we're not far from here. And ask him to confirm one thing: I've heard there is an entrance to a cave system situated just behind the monastery. Is that true?"

The monk's reply was terse. He picked up his bucket, which Elias could now see was filled with vegetable scraps, and clenched the handle, as if talking to the two strangers was physically painful. Elias had to wonder what his reaction, in fact, the whole monastery's reaction would be if he were to tell them that Ramiel was actually an angel.

"He says the only cave system he knows about are the crypts where they bury the dead."

Elias tapped his hand against his thigh. "This could be what we're looking for. Is there a possibility we could arrange a tour? Perhaps we can speak with the head of the monastery."

"It seems unlikely the chamber Sariel used would remain undiscovered if the monks entomb their dead in the caves."

"It was a long trip between the place where Sariel was working and the entrance. They might've never ventured deep enough. And you said yourself, there is a ward to make humans avoid the area. Ask him, Ramiel."

Ramiel didn't have to translate the monk's answer. The tone of his words made clear there was no possibility of them getting into the monastery catacombs by legitimate means. In his best ninth-grade Italian, Elias thanked the man for his trouble and wished him a good day. Ramiel added his own farewell, which brought out a small smile and a bow from the man before he retreated into the monastery garden.

"What did you say to him?"

Frowning, Ramiel glanced to the sun, which hung high above the snow-laden peaks. "Religious men like to hear that their god is watching over them."

"Is he really?"

"I doubt it," Ramiel replied with a snort.

Elias wanted to laugh. The folly of religious zealots was an easy target in the age of secularism. Yet he couldn't bring himself to do so.

"There is a god, though, isn't there?" he asked.

"There was, yes." Before Elias had a chance to properly weigh the implications of those three words, Ramiel switched the subject. "We should turn back so that it appears we are leaving. We will return in the night, when the inhabitants are asleep."

"You were in such a hurry last time. Why are you waiting now?"

"Sariel's shield has not deteriorated further after the initial weakening and the wards here appear to be intact. I believe we can wait a few hours. My orders are not to alarm humans unless it is unavoidable."

"I'm not sure about this particular monastery, but monks often wake up in the middle of the night to pray. What are we going to do, are you going to put a spell on these guys so they stay asleep?"

"I am an angel, not a wizard," Ramiel said and started back in the direction they had come from. "We shall endeavour to be quiet."

Elias was glad the angel set a slow pace; the throbbing in his head hadn't abated. Long minutes passed in silence.

"What did you mean by you doubt that God is watching?" Elias said at last.

Ramiel's expression darkened. "I meant that I doubt the Creator spends his time observing humanity."

"Do you want to expand on that?"

"I do not."

"Ok, that's fine." Elias frowned. "How about... Did you ever have children with a human?"

"If I were to have children, it would be with a human. Two angels cannot produce offspring. And yes, I was father to three."

Once the monastery slipped out of view, Ramiel and Elias found a flat area to rest in. Ramiel stretched out in the grass and watched the sky. Elias, in the meantime, played with the flowers. He wished he had brought his textbooks and study notes with him; he would've had something productive to do while they waited.

"Are your children's descendants still around?" he asked.

_Shite. Are Abigail and I your descendants?_

"No," Ramiel replied in a flat tone. "None of them lived to adulthood. The oldest died during a raid on their village by a rival tribe, the younger ones caught some nameless disease and died within a day of each other."

Elias winced. "I am sorry, that's awful."

"Humans die. It was hardly unexpected."

"That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, even if you are an angel. I mean, in my visions I felt Sariel's pain when his daughter died."

"I did not say an angel does not grieve. But we were brought into existence long before your world was even conceived in the Creator's mind. A thousand years may pass, or maybe five thousand years, eventually a wound does scab over," Ramiel said. "I would also caution you against assuming Sariel is archetypal of our kind."

"What do you mean?"

Ramiel's expression turned thoughtful. "Once, at a great detriment to himself, Sariel saved my life. After that, I thought I understood the depths of his empathy and compassion. However, I am now beginning to fear that what he did to protect the human world is in a different order of magnitude altogether. I do not believe any other angel would have conceived of, let alone carried out what Sariel did."


	9. Elias

**Elias**

Ramiel insisted on waiting far longer than Elias would have. By the time Ramiel decided to return to the monastery, sunlight was a distant memory and the moon rode high in the sky. With the nearest city hundreds of kilometres away, every star was at its brightest.

The Big Dipper, Cassiopeia, Polaris — they shouldn't have felt as alien as they did. After all, Elias' family all came from Europe. His ancestors had lived under the light of these stars for thousands of years. But at that moment, Elias wanted to look up and see the familiar shape of the Southern Cross rising above him. Its absence, more than anything, was a measure of how far he was from home.

"Do the stars look different now compared to the last time you were on Earth?" he asked.

"Keep up, Elias," the angel responded.

Not a single light could be seen in the windows of any building at the monastery. As Elias' teeth chattered in the cold air, he had to respect the monks' piety. He couldn't imagine spending his life in prayer out here in the long, bitter months of winter. If the solitude didn't drive him mad, frostbite and pneumonia would. It couldn't be warm inside — all the buildings looked centuries old and the monastery seemed to lack electricity.

Nor were the monks concerned with matters as earthly as security. There were no fences, or alarms, or guards; not even a dog to bark at strangers. Elias and Ramiel took the well-trodden path between the church and a two-storey half-timbered building that looked like it might serve as the monks' sleeping quarters. A faint smell of stewed meat and vegetables hung in the air.

The entrance to the catacombs was discreet — a weathered, wooden door right over the bare rock of the mountain that loomed over the monastery. A massive, medieval lock that had to weigh at least two kilograms kept the door secure. Ramiel grasped it with two hands and ripped it open.

Elias flinched at the sound and glanced around. "Do you think someone heard?"

"Wolves three valleys over heard that." Ramiel pulled open the doors, the hinges creaking as if they hadn't been oiled since the Reformation. "Get inside. Quickly!"

Elias did as he was told, but not before he threw one last look at the twin peaks of Castor and Pollux, their white caps reflecting the moonlight. They looked just as Sariel had seen them.

Ramiel created a trio of hovering, blue-tinted lights and shut the door behind them. The space inside was about three metres wide and ten deep. Remnants of medieval paintings depicting saints and serpents adorned the side walls. At the chamber's far end was another door, thankfully unlocked. As decoration, it bore a carved cross atop an orb and seven stars with a single line of Latin beneath.

"The carving on the door," Elias said. " _Stat crux dum volvitur orbis._ What does that mean?"

Ramiel traced the shallow letters with his fingers, then pushed the door open. "The cross remains firm as the Earth turns. I do not believe this message is for us."

Elias had once seen a documentary about early Christian catacombs in Rome, which had led him to expect rows of rough niches stacked four or five high. Here, the monks had allotted themselves more space. Great, carved sarcophagi stood on either side of the long room with a body of an elderly man carved into the lid of each one. A name and two dates were carved into the sides.

"These must be the priors of the monastery. If they have priors," said Elias, as they made their way past the dead. "The heads of the monastery, whatever they're called. This goes back centuries."

Side rooms, filled with less elaborate resting places, led off the main chambers, but whenever Elias and Ramiel investigated them, they found a dead-end. One room they couldn't enter at all. It was barricaded by a steel door, but through the door's small windows they could see that the room was stacked to the ceiling with bones and skulls.

_This is the creepiest place I_ _'ve ever been._

"Are you certain this is the right location?" Ramiel asked.

"Unfortunately, yes."

After a hundred metres of dead-straight passageway, there was a sharp swing to the right and a few metres later the passage ended.

"They must have sealed the path to prevent people going further or maybe there was a collapse," said Elias. He palpated the rough stone. "This seems solid, but I am certain this is the way Sariel came."

"Stand back."

Elias shuffled backwards, ready to duck flying boulders. However, Ramiel chose a more surgical approach. Piece by piece, he shifted the stones that made up the wall, depositing them at the side of the passageway until he had made an opening large enough to fit through.

The moment Elias stepped through to the other side, he felt the change. The very air hummed with power and warmth. Sigils carved into the walls, the floor and the ceiling shimmered. Elias hadn't realised until that moment how lifeless everything had seemed inside the cave back in Australia.

"Hold on." Ramiel caught Elias by the shoulder and held him back to prevent him from moving towards the source of the energy. "The wards must be disabled first. They seem inviting, but they will trap the unwary."

Ramiel drew a familiar, black-handled dagger from the pocket of his coat and began carving sigils into the floor. He was careful never to touch Sariel's work, but to place his sigils in the space between the existing ones. Gradually, Elias felt the hum and the inviting warmth recede until only the frigid, stale air of the cave remained.

The trio of lights hovering overhead threw strange, ever-shifting shadows across the passage, but as Elias and Ramiel crept deeper into the mountain, their lights were drowned out by the force of the light emanating from the chamber at the far end of the passageway. This anchor point was still functional, there was no doubt of that.

"Sariel..." Ramiel's voice cracked and he trailed off with a despairing expression etched into his features.

The light was so strong, it took Elias' eyes a minute to adjust enough for him to make out the source of Ramiel's anguish — a pair of wings suspended about the dais and radiating light. These were larger than the ones he had seen in the first cave, Elias realised. Big enough to be a seraph's middle pair.

"Faithful above all else." Ramiel sighed. He slumped against the wall and closed his eyes.

"Faithful to what?" came the reply.

Elias spun around at the sound of a new, distinctly feminine voice. Two girls, no more than twelve years old, stood in the doorway. They weren't dressed for the weather, but didn't seem to be bothered by the chill.

"Name yourselves," Ramiel demanded.

"Kiara Marshall," said the one on the left. "This is my sister, Misha. I'm told you are the angel Ramiel."

The two were twins; it wasn't just the identical clothes that gave them that appearance. Yet Elias had no trouble telling them apart. Kiara was missing her right eye — the eye-socket was sunken and had long been stitched shut.

"Are these demons?" Elias asked.

"Yikes. Where did you find him?" replied Misha, her American drawl evoking the banal images of Boston Legal and the Red Sox. "He can't tell the difference between a demon and his own kind."

Ramiel flung his trio of lights at the twins. Misha swept her hand up, bringing up a dark shield over her and her sister. Ramiel's lights crackled as they hit the shield, then burst into pure light so strong Elias instinctively stumbled back. As Ramiel summoned another light ball, Kiara laughed.

"Hold on, seraph," Kiara said from the safety of her sister's shield. She produced a kind of unhinged giggle Elias associated with sugar-high school girls ten hours deep into a sleepover. "We have something your pet nephilim will want to see."


End file.
